


Just One Condition

by Itsallfine



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Mrs. Hudson is sassy and loves it, Parentlock, Post-TFP, Series 4 Fix-It, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-19 22:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9464018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsallfine/pseuds/Itsallfine
Summary: John gets some sense knocked into him by one Martha Hudson, resident sassmaster. Maybe it's time to move back into 221b after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short thing to make me happy post-S4. Two or three chapters at most, to be finished quickly! Rating might increase later because... it me. Unbetaed, un-britpicked, etc. All mistakes mine.

John crept down the stairs from his old room where Rosie slept soundly in the cot Sherlock had bought for her. It meant he would be at 221b for another few hours while she napped, would have to head home well after dark yet again and probably be up all night with her, but his days of single fatherhood had taught him to find peace where and when he could. She never slept well at his flat in the suburbs. The chaos of 221b seemed to suit her, soothe her. _She’s not the only one_ , his brain supplied.

He shoved the thought away.

The sitting room was silent but for the dull background hum of the refrigerator. Sherlock, too, had succumbed to the pull of sleep and was sprawled on the sofa with his blue dressing gown flowing off his body. His head was tipped back and to the side, exposing his long throat, and his shirt had ridden up to reveal one sharp hipbone, the tantalizing dip of—

John wrenched his eyes away from Sherlock’s body and snatched the baby monitor off the desk, his heart aching. Mrs. Hudson was home, and she was always good for tea and company. Yes. Tea. Good. Safe. He crept down to 221A, careful to avoid the squeaky stair, and knocked gently on Mrs. Hudson’s door. She opened it a moment later with a brilliant smile.

“I was just about to bring up some biscuits for you three, but it seems awfully quiet up there right now.”

John waggled the baby monitor. “Both children are sleeping, so I thought I’d come down for a cuppa, if you’re free.”

“Of course, dear, come in!”

She bustled about for a moment, bringing out tea and milk and the aforementioned biscuits while John stared unseeing out the window. His head was a mess, half-acknowledged desires and temptation and guilt and terror pulling him every which way. _Just stay the night again_. _You want to. Rosie wants to. Why not? What could it hurt?_

A cup of tea landed on the table in front of him, startling him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Okay, young man,” Mrs. Hudson said, her tone scolding. “It’s time to share all that wool you’ve been gathering. I know you’re hopeless at these things, so I’ll help you start. Why on Earth haven’t you moved back in yet?”

John winced. Trust Mrs. H to get right to the heart of things. He looked down into his teacup and watched the ripples form and fade as he tapped a restless finger against the rim.

“It’s a lot to ask,” he finally said. “Sherlock didn’t sign up to have a baby around all time, nor did you—”

She cut him off with an impatient wave.

“Wrong. Try again,” she sang. “That man had the flat baby-proofed in a single afternoon, bought you that lovely cot, has kept the kitchen spotless, bought her that sweet stuffed dog last week—”

“Dog? What stuffed dog?”

“He was probably worried about overstepping and decided not to give it to her. He did look so sweet with it, though, hiding it under his coat like a thief.” She giggled, and John could picture it, Sherlock sneaking into the flat, getting caught with the stuffed animal, flushing the embarrassed pink John so loved to see stained across those sharp cheekbones. Mrs. Hudson raised an eyebrow at John’s dazed half-smile, and it was his turn to blush. Her wrinkled hand cupped around his where it rested on the table

“What else does he need to do to prove to you that he wants you here? Both of you?” she asked. “Honestly, John, I’m truly asking.”

John pursed his lips and looked down into his cup again, clenching and unclenching his fist under Mrs. Hudson’s gentle touch. He took a deep breath in through his nose, then another, before finally meeting Mrs. Hudson’s eyes.

“Can I…”

He paused, cleared his throat, looked down at the table.

“Can I trust your discretion? You won’t… tell him?”

Mrs. Hudson patted his hand and leaned back. “I don’t know what you think you’ve managed to keep secret from the most observant man in the world, but of course, you have my word.”

That sent a jolt of terror straight to John’s stomach, but he breathed through it.

“It’s probably not. Not secret at all, he just…”

He closed his eyes against the rush of heat. He’d cried so many times lately. Tears were always waiting just beneath the surface these days, and the memory of Sherlock’s arms around him the last time made it all the worse. “He probably does know and just doesn’t say anything to spare me the humiliation. And that’s why I can’t move back in. Because we…”

He cocked his head, his lips pressed into a sad, horrible smile.

“We are… _never_ going to be on the same page about what we want. I can’t move back here and have everything go back to the way it used to be,” he said, his voice breaking. “I can’t do that, it would kill me. I’ve been through too much, and caused everyone around me too much pain, and I would always want more, and I would eventually end up lashing out and hurting everyone all over again because I can’t have it.”

John pursed his lips, unable to stop his eyes from welling up.

“I have _always_ wanted more, and it’s so hard to deny it when I’m here. It’d be even worse if I were here all the time, if I had no separation. And it wouldn’t work forever anyway. There are only two bedrooms, and Rosie will need her own eventually, so unless Sherlock and I… I’d have to move out yet again, and I don’t want to put us through that. I won’t.”

John hid his eyes and fell silent.

A moment later, Mrs. Hudson heaved the greatest, most put-upon sigh in the world.

“John, dear, I mean this in the kindest way possible, but you really are an idiot."

John looked up from behind his hands, brows drawn. “Well, that’s helpful.”

She flapped a hand at him. “Oh, don’t act all hurt. You could call up any person who knows the both of you, anyone at all, and every single one of them would tell you that Sherlock’s been in love with you for years. Everyone knows, John, _literally everyone_.”

John sputtered. “But he… he always said… and Irene Adler—”

Mrs. Hudson laughed right in his face. “Oh, _John._ How in the world can you have known him for seven years and still think he would ever have any interest in a woman? That boy is as gay as he is gorgeous, and we both know what you think of that.”

John’s cheeks burned, and he cut his eyes away from hers, looking at _anything_ but her. His heart raced, and his veins sang with adrenaline, danger, _possibility_. _Sherlock_.

“I think we’re done here,” Mrs. Hudson said, and snatched his barely-touched teacup away. “You march yourself upstairs right this instant and put this nonsense to rest. Leave the baby monitor with me. The two of you have waited long enough and it’s time and I’d like for you to get on with it before I die, please and thank you.”

“But shouldn’t I—”

“Get _out_ , John Watson, I mean it!”

John leapt to his feet as if burned and stood there for a moment, stunned, his hands limp at his sides.

“I, uh…” He paused, ran a hand through his hair. “Do I look okay?”

Mrs. Hudson snatched a magazine off a side table and swatted him with it, herding him toward the door. “You could roll around in a dumpster and he’d still have it off with you in a heartbeat. GO, you ridiculous man!”

“Okay, okay!” He stumbled out the door and turned back to her with a smile, the last of his unshed tears shining in his eyes. “Thank you. I hope you’re right about this.”

Mrs. Hudson’s stern expression melted. She pulled him into a tight hug, then patted his cheek.

“Of course I’m right. Go get him, John.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr at [librarylock](http://librarylock.tumblr.com).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wants to move back in. It's time to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbetaed, etc. All mistakes mine.

John paused just outside the door to 221b with his heart in his throat.

 _Now? Really now? Does it have to be now?_ He rocked back on his heels, glanced in the direction of his former bedroom. _I could just…_

The door flew open, and his ‘I could just’ options narrowed significantly.

_Oh, God._

Sherlock stood in the open door, adorably sleep rumpled and wide eyed. His left cheek was lightly creased by the weave of the throw pillow, and his tousled hair stood out in a fuzzy shock from his head. His eyes flicked over John from top to bottom, no doubt deducing his nervousness.

“I heard Mrs. Hudson shouting. What did you do?”

John opened his mouth to reply, but all the air evaporated from his lungs. The urge to flee hit hard and sudden, but he clenched his jaw, balled his fists, and forced his back straight. _No more lying. No more hiding._

“Sorry if we woke you, I just…” He wet his lips, looked away, then met Sherlock’s curious gaze head-on. “Can we talk?”

Sherlock withdrew a step, blinking and unsteady.

“Of course.”

John all but marched after Sherlock, who lowered himself cautiously into his chair and drummed his fingers along the armrests. He was so obviously nervous, but not guarded, thank God. They’d already been at rock bottom together. They had little to hide from one another these days.

Little but for this one thing, this thing that mattered more than all of it combined.

John stood next to his chair for a long moment, then grabbed the arm and dragged it closer to Sherlock’s. When he sat, his feet rested between Sherlock’s on the floor. The first tiny confession. He sat back and braced his elbow on the arm of the chair, bringing one knuckle up to tap at his pursed lips.

A glance; Sherlock waited, passive, his eyes soft and worried.

_Enough._

“I want to move back in,” John said without preamble.

Sherlock sucked in a breath, his lips parted, so hopeful and fearful and it took everything John had to not climb into Sherlock’s lap and take that bottom lip between his own. _Get on with it._

“I want to move back in,” he repeated, “but I have a condition.”

Sherlock sat up straighter, his gaze intent. “John, I swear to you right now I will never touch drugs again for as long as I live. You know why I did it, and with Rosie here I would never—”

“Will you be with me?” John asked, so quiet that at first he wondered if Sherlock could hear him. One look at his face confirmed, though—back to that wide-eyed shock, back to lips parted and quickened breaths and intense, focused attention. John leaned forward in his chair and the rest came spilling out, uncontrolled and desperate.

“I’m sorry I’ve dragged this out so long, that I didn’t just tell you why I couldn’t come back, but here it is now. I can’t be here... I can’t move back in unless it’s to finally be with you.” John swallowed hard, and his voice dipped lower, rougher. “God, Sherlock, I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I’ve hurt you so much, and after everything… I know it’s a lot, and I don’t want you to say yes just because you want me to move back in, please, and I know you didn’t ask to have Rosie in your life. It has to be what you want.”

The room was utterly silent as John, perched on the edge of his chair, reached out to brush Sherlock’s knee with the back of one curled finger. His whole body thrummed with high alert _(racing heart, burning lungs, over-sensitive skin),_ but the constant clamor of need and secrets had finally been excised. He dared a glance up at Sherlock’s face, frozen in an unreadable expression.

“It’s okay if the answer’s no. It really is. We’ll still be friends, best friends, and we can still work together. I just can’t live here. I hope you can understand that.”

And with every eternal second of silence that passed, more of the adrenaline drained from John’s system, the coldness of reality settling in the center of his chest. With one last lingering brush of his finger on Sherlock’s knee, he began to draw back… until Sherlock’s long index finger hooked over his, holding it in place.

“Move in with me,” he breathed. “Come home.”

John’s heart kicked back to life, flooding his body with heat and electric anticipation. He tightened his finger around Sherlock’s and forced his gaze from Sherlock’s lips to his eyes.

“You want me?” he asked, a small break on the last word.

Sherlock’s eyes held steady on John’s, bright and alive. “Yes.”

“You’re not just… saying that to get me to stay?”

Sherlock’s mouth curved into that small, soft smile, so warm and full of promise, that had been common since the end of their estrangement. He slowly got to his feet, then tugged at their linked fingers for John to stand, too.

“This is the bravest thing you’ve ever done, John Watson,” Sherlock said, lifting his hands to cup John’s face. “Now let _me_.”

The ache in John’s chest flared, cracked open, as Sherlock dipped his head to brush their noses together, to nuzzle against John’s cheek and jawline. He pulled back just far enough to meet John’s eyes one last time, then let his own fall shut as he finally, _finally_ touched his mouth to John’s.

With a high, pained whine, John’s hands flew to Sherlock’s waist and slid around to his back, grabbing handfuls of shirt to pull their bodies close. The kiss deepened, every press and give and take full with all the years, all the pain, all the _wanting,_ and when their tongues curled hot and insistent together Sherlock groaned and broke off, pressing his forehead to John’s.

“Be with me,” he whispered into the space between their lips, then ducked in for another long, lingering kiss. “Let’s be together. Here.” Another. “I love you.”

“I love you,” John gasped in return, burying his face in Sherlock’s neck and placing kiss after kiss on his neck and shoulders. “God, I love you.”

They stood there for a long moment, holding tight and gently swaying with the power of the moment, feeling their hearts racing inside chests pressed tightly together, until their need quieted and their frantic kisses gentled to soft brushes at temple, cheek, and jaw. When John planted a tiny kiss at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, Sherlock smiled, then chuckled low in his chest.

“What?” John asked.

“This is what Mrs. Hudson was scolding you about?”

John laughed, high and giddy.

“She wanted us to sort ourselves out before she died of waiting.”

“Ridiculous. Mrs. Hudson will live forever.” Sherlock’s arms tightened around John at that, and John felt him brush another kiss into his hair.

“She hit me with a magazine, you know. We should watch her, she’s a vicious one,” he murmured into Sherlock’s jaw.

“At least she didn’t pull a gun on you.”

“It’s was a near thing, I swear, matter of seconds.”

Sherlock hummed his agreement. “Are you staying here tonight?”

“Yes. I’ll start packing our things tomorrow. Can I…”

John hesitated, rubbing the soft material of Sherlock’s shirt between two fingers. Might be best not to rush him. “I can still share the upstairs bedroom with Rosie for a while yet, but eventually—”

Sherlock cut him off with a long kiss, slipped his tongue into John’s mouth with a low keen, and the fire in John’s gut flared immediately back to life. He released Sherlock’s shirt and ran his hands down to Sherlock’s hips instead, dragging them flush against his own and grinding, hard, his blood singing with need. They both groaned into the kiss and broke apart with a gasp.

“You should stay in mine,” Sherlock said, forehead pressed to John’s. “Starting tonight. It’s ours.”

_Oh, hell yes._

John gave Sherlock his most predatory grin, chuckling at the pink flush over his cheekbones.

“Well, then,” he said, steering Sherlock backwards by the hips. “I think I’d like to try out _our_ bed. What do you think?”

Sherlock’s breath quickened. “I think you’d better keep my mouth occupied or I’ll wake the baby.”

John groaned into Sherlock’s neck as he pinned him against the bedroom door, fumbling for the handle. “You telling me you’re loud in bed, posh boy?”

They stumbled into the bedroom in a tangle of limbs, Sherlock’s rumbling laugh in John’s ear. Sherlock pushed away from him and fell backward onto the bed, propped on his forearms, and when he looked up through his lashes, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, John’s heart stopped.

“Come over here and find out,” Sherlock said.

John pressed him down into their mattress and kissed the smile right off his lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I might... actually not do a smut chapter? I might skip straight to a parentlock epilogue? Or I might just be done and leave it here? I feel like it could end here. Your input is valued. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at [librarylock](http://librarylock.tumblr.com).


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